


Wolf and Llama

by raven_aorla



Series: Just Like Animals [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1950s, Angst and Humor, Buzzfeed Unsolved Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Buzzfeed Unsolved References, Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, F/M, Film Noir, M/M, Mobsters, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Graphic Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 13:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20995763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: "I, uh, I missed you.” Holly turns red and decides to stop talking."Nice to hear someone did,” Tinsley murmurs, barely loud enough for her to catch.She brews a pot of coffee for both of them. And nearly drops the tray she is bringing over to her boss when she gets close enough to see the black eye he's tried to conceal with makeup, and faded but distinct love-bite marks on his neck.[Can be read on its own.]





	Wolf and Llama

Detective Tinsley left to go find the missing Degas children seven months ago, and nobody has seen him since. However, during that time his secretary Holly has been getting phone calls from him every week or so from all sorts of area codes, asking her if anyone’s left messages for him and requesting that she stop by his apartment to collect his mail and otherwise check on the place periodically. She throws in some light dusting _gratis_. He also seems to be paying her to be his headshrinker, as the phone calls often contain long, rambling complaints about some guy he’s partnered up with to solve cases with for the time being, being very cagey about the details. Holly says “uh huh” and “that’s too bad” and “oh no”. He sounds grateful for it.

Otherwise she maintains his chilly, cramped Private Investigator office, chasing away any unwelcome visitors who have a grudge against Tinsley, depositing the checks he sends her into her bank account, and spending her copious free time writing mystery stories on his typewriter to sell to pulp magazines. While sitting at his desk and in his chair. It’s comfortable and…fine, the chair can’t possibly still smell like him after months away, but she can pretend.

(She’s never said anything to him - she was the one who babysat his drunk and weepy ass for weeks after his fiancee dumped him after being together since he worked for the Chicago PD, and how do you transition from that to confessing a crush?)

But today Holly comes into the office, and Tinsley's back, sitting in his chair and going through the giant stack of mail she’s been keeping safe to him.

He tips his hat when she enters, and looks and sounds very tired, though he smiles like a real gentleman. “Good morning, Miss Horsely.”

“Your suit’s horribly rumpled,” she blurts out, fumbling with her coat buttons.

Tinsley’s lip quirks, amused. “I’m afraid I didn’t have much access to an iron while I was away.”

“I, uh, I missed you.” Holly turns red and decides to stop talking. 

“Nice to hear someone did,” Tinsley murmurs, barely loud enough for her to catch. 

Holly brews a pot of coffee for both of them. And nearly drops the tray she is bringing over to her boss when she gets close enough to see the black eye he's tried to conceal with makeup, and faded but distinct love-bite marks on his neck.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Got any engagements this evening? Seems I’ve let my license lapse and I need help with the paperwork, plus I’ve got tons of correspondence to follow up on. Could use your help.”

“I’m free,” she says, proud of keeping her voice steady. “Want me to grab the right files from the back room?”

“Sure thing.”

They get waist deep in paper and lose track of time. Tinsley notices that it’s half past one all of a sudden and looks at her with concern. “Let’s stretch our legs a bit and go grab something around the corner. My treat.”

“Are you sure?” Usually his way of being nice is giving her a few bucks and sending her to pick up lunch but telling her to get something for herself too, and keep the change.

On the way there, he puts an arm on her shoulder lightly as they walk through a clump of construction workers fixing a pothole, but that could just be more gentlemanly behavior. He listens to her recounting her adventures as a budding writer as they eat their soup and sandwiches.

“Gonna leave me when you’re all rich and famous?” he asks, compressing his pastrami on rye between his large, slender hands.

“I’ll stay if you ask nicely.” She can’t stop sneaking glances at those marks on him. _why did you go so long and who did this to you who did this who_.

Once he’s done chewing and swallowing a large bite, he looks thoughtful and says, “You know, I could really go for some popcorn.”

“This is a mom-and-pop kosher deli. I don’t think they sell popcorn.”

“No, sadly you have to get popcorn at the movies.”

“You could make it yourself, too.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s better at the movies. I’d like your help getting some.”

“Uh…”

“I’m trying to ask you if you’d like to watch a movie with me in a way that doesn’t spook you, seeing as I’m your boss and you might get the mistaken impression that I’ll get nasty if you say no,” he says. “So much for my suave image.”

“You won’t get nasty if I say no?”

“Nope.” He has a few more bites while she thinks about it. There are a lot of reasons why this might be a bad idea. 

“Sure thing,” she says. “But call me Holly. I’d say it’s time.”

*

During work hours, things stay like they always were, but they go to movie followed by dinner, and one week later a dinner followed by a dance hall. Tinsley doesn’t quite know what to do with his limbs on a dance floor, but he does what he does with gusto, and she’s so much smaller than him that twirls and dips are particularly fun. She doesn’t tell her roommate or her friends or family. She’s afraid they’ll either tell her it’s a bad idea, or in her mother’s case be delighted that a man’s showing interest in her and demand that she marry him before becoming an old maid of 27 (land’s sakes!) next June.

After dancing, she gets into Tinsley’s car and says coyly, “Thanks for offering to drive me home, but it’s late. Maybe I shouldn’t wake my roommate.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Make a lot of noise, do you?”

She arches an eyebrow back. “Depends who’s with me, Tinsley.” Despite appearances, she’s not a “good” girl. Just a careful enough one to get away with being a little bad. A writer needs varied life experiences, after all. 

“You can call me Clarence when I’m the one with you in...that context. I’d rather not have you call me Tinsley there.” He blushes, and Holly notices an odd emphasis on the “you” that she would ask about if he didn’t have a distracting hand on her thigh. Then he leans over and tips her face up for a kiss.

Just then, a car honks. She nearly jumps out of her skin. They both laugh it off and kiss a few times, deeper each time, before he drives them to his own place.

Neither of them have condoms on hand and no drugstores are open at this time of night, so once they’ve undressed each other Tinsley lays Holly down and puts his mouth on her in a way she hadn’t known could be done. Maybe most men were too selfish for it? It’s a revelation, anyway, particularly with his level of dedication. Then he asks if he can rub himself between her thighs instead, showing her how to press them together with a little lukewarm butter (the only safe greasy thing he could find at short notice) for slick. 

“Holly, could you scratch my back up, please? No, more, more, I can take more, make me bleed, good, yes, shit, God, Holly, thank you -”

Tinsley drops off almost immediately after “defiling” a handkerchief at the last second rather than getting anything on her (his idea, not hers). He holds her in his sleep, lanky arms wound around her like a child with a beloved doll. It’s warm and comfortable and Holly is about to fall asleep herself.

Then Tinsely mumbles, _“Jus’ say you’re s’rry, Ricky,”_

*

“So, coming into the office at the same time now, are we? How sweet.”

Holly freezes and Tinsley draws his gun, ushering her behind him. This isn’t the first time someone has broken in, hoping to ambush Tinsley, but they’ve upgraded their security considerably since then.

The intruder is sitting in Tinsley’s chair and smoking a cigarette, feet up not only on the desk but on the typewriter. He’s not white (or black), but Holly can’t immediately figure out what sort of mix his particular combination of tan skin, finely made features, and dark, intense eyes come from. His pinstriped suit is tailored perfectly for him and crisply ironed, but there’s a reddish-brown smudge on his otherwise pristine right shirt cuff. Also his hat, which is slightly too big for him, looks a lot like one of Tinsley’s two hats that he took on his extended trip, the one she’d assumed he lost.

“What are you doing here, Goldsworth?” Tinsley growls.

Goldsworth takes a lazy drag. “Are we back to that again?”

“You ran off and left me to get nabbed.”

“All’s fair in...you know the rest. I knew you’d get yourself out of the situation okay, and look, you did. The getaway plan only worked for one person, and there weren’t any outstanding warrants on you. I was being practical.”

“I spent the night in jail, you asshole. You didn’t help.”

“I was being practical. Sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“That’s not a real apology.”

Goldsworth gets to his feet and approaches them. Tinsley clicks the safety off his gun. “Oh come on, we both know you wouldn’t kill me. I need your help.”

“Hah!” Tinsley aims for the legs. “Get out, or I’ll shoot out your kneecaps before collecting the bounty on your head in the state of California.” 

“My brother’s mixed up in a gang war in L.A. Silent J’s crowd. Our old pal Francesca’s got a safe place for us to operate from, but me and her can’t get stupid Night-Night out of this on our own.” Then Goldsworth makes eye contact with Tinsley, and his voice softens. “Also, yes, I’m sorry, I’m not good at saying it, I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, Freudian whatchamacallit plus trauma whatever, I’m sorry, Tinsley, please come back. You know you don't belong with the sheep anymore. Llamas run towards wolves, not away from them.”

"To kick their sorry asses, yes." Tinsley touches Holly’s arm. “Holly, I need you to go home and not come back unless I say otherwise.”

“Should I call the police?”

“Not unless you want your boss and/or boyfriend - whatever, I can only see so much through my binoculars - to go to jail too, then no, little lamb.” Goldsworth says casually.

“Please go, Holly, and I sincerely apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. But if he so much looks at you funny again I will kneecap and castrate him, promise.” Tinsley pushes her out of the office and slams the door behind her. 

She makes it all the way to the bus stop before deciding that Tinsley needs help, or at least a witness in case anything happens in self-defense that might require testifying over. She won’t go charging in and get herself taken hostage like a million silly heroines, she’ll stealthily climb the drainpipe and get onto a ledge where she can look into the office, which is only on the second floor of a four-storey building. Tinsley has used the reverse version of that route to escape unwelcome solicitors, angry relatives of people he’s helped put away, his narrowly-averted-mother-in-law, and so on. Holly has used the route twice when she locked herself out and Tinsley was gone on a case. So Holly returns to the building, leaves her shoes and purse in some nearby bushes, climbs, and peeks.

Well.

Uh.

Though she knows better than to be public about this opinion, Holly doesn’t really take issue with two men macking on each other in private. She doesn’t understand how that supposedly does anyone else any harm, as long as they’re not betraying any wives or girlfriends in the process. And regardless of what Holly and Tinsley did last night, she doesn’t think she’s earned the title of girlfriend. She’s pretty sure right now she’s firmly in the time-honored territory of “secretary who is the boss’ secret lover”. That’s nobody’s fault but her own. 

The amount of scratching, biting, cussing, and hair-pulling going on right now doesn’t look like two men, though. They’re not even fully naked yet, too busy savaging each other, but they look like animals. 

Holly takes her leave.

*

_Dear Holly,_

_I didn’t fake any of my fondness for you. I promise you that. But I was a fool to act like I could fit into my old life again, or that becoming lovers with you would fix the dark and cracked parts of me. All it would have done was disappoint you at best, drag you down at worst. I’m not going to try again. I’ve drawn up legal documents that make you trustee of all the property I’m not taking with me, to do as you like. Especially the typewriter. If you ever write anything inspired by me, go ahead, but change the names. I hope you write a bestseller one day. You’ve got a real gift._

_C.C.T._

***

“And that’s where I got the idea for that iconic scene in my first full-length novel,” Holly tells her biographer serenely, knitting all the while. It’s been enough decades that this all seems hilarious. “Like he requested, please change the names.”

“I think I’m going to have to censor it, as well,” the biographer squeaks. 

“Hey, you asked!"

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be multichapter, but I decided Holly should get her own story. I have ideas for continuing the series and featuring Night-Night and Francesca eventually.


End file.
